


Take Another Look Around

by seventyfivesheep



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Ann/Shiho is included and mentioned but it's a Makoto/Ann story, Delinquint! Makoto AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventyfivesheep/pseuds/seventyfivesheep
Summary: The five times Ann and Makoto almost spoke to each other, and the one time they did.
Relationships: Niijima Makoto/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 2
Kudos: 102





	Take Another Look Around

**Author's Note:**

> Some content warnings here: brief descriptions of violence/injuries, and attempted assault. Kamoshida is also mentioned. It's not graphic but it's there and I want to be overly cautious in case that's something you can't read.

The first time Ann sees her, it’s just a coincidence.

It’s not like she’s looking out for her— even though it’s only her first day at Shujin, Ann had heard enough whispers in the third and second year hallways on the way to the faculty office to recognize the girl on sight.

_ “Did you hear Niijima is coming back this year?” _

_ “How is that even possible? There’s no way she passed her classes last year!” _

_ “I heard the reason she missed so much class last year is ‘cause she killed a guy just for looking at her wrong!” _

_ “Ugh, someone like that going to our school! This is totally going to make me look bad on college applications…” _

Ann realizes as she steps into the office proper that it’s not like Niijima Makoto is doing much to keep herself from being the center of attention.

Slinking along the row of desks nearest to the door is making it harder to find the one she’s been sent looking for, but at least it makes avoiding the scene that’s taking place in the middle of the room easier. Not that any of the teachers or staff look her way, all their eyes trained on the stacks of paperwork in front of them; even then, she can tell they’re sneaking peeks at the center of the commotion. And, well, she’s just trying to find the gym teacher. Apparently he needs some paperwork before classes start, but the administrative assistant that asked her to bring them up to him was too busy to do it herself. Ann’s just trying not to be late, but, well...

Eavesdropping is pretty inevitable. 

“Can’t you at least pretend you care?” The teacher sighs. Niijima’s arms are crossed, back straight, and by the look on her face, it doesn’t seem like the desperate pleading is all that effective. “Trying to slip out of school before class even starts on the first day— why did you even bother coming in in the first place?”

“Isn’t it school policy? I’d be dropped if I wasn’t on the premises.” Ann has to keep herself from laughing. If Niijima cared about school policy at all, she probably wouldn’t be blatantly breaking uniform code by mixing and matching aesthetics of the boys and girls uniforms. 

Then again, and even though it’s the first time Ann has ever seen her, she really can’t imagine Niijima in a skirt or a form-fitting jacket. There’s just something about the aura she gives off. 

The teacher shakes her head, says in a quiet voice, “Why me? Why couldn’t they have put you in someone else’s homeroom?” 

Maybe the rumors were right. Niijima does seem to be a little...rough, especially if it’s enough to make a teacher say something like that. Still, it’s not like Ann can afford to spend so much time dawdling here, and it doesn’t seem like this conversation-- as much as it can be called that-- is going to end any time soon. 

After only a few more minutes of searching, one of the other teachers finally pipes up, and directs her to go to the PE office. Even with all the other distractions, it’s hard not to feel like there are eyes on her as she slides the door open to leave. 

* * *

The next time Ann sees her, she couldn’t care less about rumors.

Ever since Ann’s first week at Shujin, the rumors had shifted. People talked less about Niijima, and focused more on topics that actually made it to school most days.

_ “Did you see that foreigner flirting with Kamoshida? She’s totally trying to get in his pants.” _

_ “I heard her best friend’s on the volleyball team. They’re probably just trying to get him to play her more.” _

_ “Yeah, but it doesn’t help that she’s a total whore. You know she loves it.” _

The chatter always quiets down when she walks by, but it’s still there, in whispers. It’s not like she isn’t used to gossip. She couldn’t go a day in middle school without hearing someone hypothesize about her ethnicity or if she was  _ really  _ part Japanese, had actually learned the language through living in the country or if some fancy foreign tutor had taught her. 

She had learned, then, that people wouldn’t bother asking her about these things, content in living with their assumptions.

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to her that even as her classmates got older, their ignorance wouldn’t change. After all, how can someone change something if they don’t even see it as an issue worth thinking about? 

So she’s stopped listening to them. Doesn’t even recognize her name in so many voices anymore. At least she has Shiho, and Shiho actually listens when she talks. 

“I overheard some of the second years in the halls yesterday,” It’s lunch, and the few rays of spring sunlight that manage to break through the canopy of the trees in the courtyard and the cloud cover make it just warm enough to be outside. Shiho’s voice is soft, but time has made Ann good at picking up every word, “They said there’s a girl in their class that’s working with the yakuza. But she’s still enrolled in school, so I can’t imagine that’s true.” 

“Oh, what was her name? Niijima-- something?” 

Shiho nods, “That’s it. Niijima Makoto. Apparently her sister used to be the student council president, when she went here.”

“Hm.” Ann stops herself from taking another bite of her bread, tapping her chin. “She’s a bit small to be a yakuza, though. And don’t they have to wear suits?”

Shiho jumps, just enough that Ann can feel it as Shiiho brushes up against her arm and asks, “You’ve seen her?” 

“Only once, in the faculty office. Haven’t seen her around since, though.” 

“I guess she doesn’t come in very often.” Shiho says, “I probably wouldn’t either, if I had to deal with those kinds of rumors.” 

Taking the last bite of her melon pan, Ann scrunches up the plastic packaging with authority, the noise a decibel louder than anything else around them. “Who cares about rumors? People just make those up when they don’t have anything interesting about themselves to talk about. Honestly, I feel sorry for them.”

She doesn’t expect to hear laughter, but the words from Shiho are far more familiar, “Ann, that’s so like you.”

“Well, it’s true!” Ann shoves a handful of chips in her mouth, “People should just get lives instead of worrying about what other people are doing.”

“I didn’t say you were wrong.” Shiho’s smile is bright. Even though it’s mostly cloudy, it’s hard to feel like the sun is gone when it’s obviously sitting right next to her. The school’s bell rings. 

“Oh, did you want to go shopping after school? I needed to pick up a couple things.” Ann asks, standing and shuffling what remains of her lunch into her bag. 

Shiho shakes her head, and her smile wavers, just a bit, “I have practice.”

“Oh.” Ann should’ve expected as much— practice is an everyday thing, especially with a volleyball team as good as Shujin has. “Well, good luck then! I’m rooting for you!” 

That brings the smile back to Shiho’s face, “You, too.”

She doesn’t elaborate what the luck is for, and Ann doesn’t ask.

* * *

Ann doesn’t know what prompts her to follow the loud  _ bang  _ she hears up the stairwell from the third floor after school that day, but her legs move before she can stop them. 

It leads her to a dead end, a door for roof access that’s marked off limits in regal, perfect handwriting. Not that it seems to matter-- it’s cracked open anyway. All it takes is one step, two, and then…

Without the cloud cover from earlier, it’s bright out, and Ann has to squint as she looks through the door. Not wanting to draw attention to herself— what if it was a teacher, setting up a trap to give kids citations?— she scans the rooftop, looking for the source of the noise.

What she doesn’t expect to see is short brown hair, and a familiar, large Shujin jacket, hunched over a bag of— something. 

She’s not alone— there’s another girl on the roof, one Ann doesn’t recognize, with curly orange hair in a gym uniform. Even from here, she can tell she’s different from Niijima— more girly, even just in the way she stands. Cute, too, where Niijima is more…

Well, something else.

So the bag was the reason for the noise. Neither of them seem too startled, and they’re standing in front of a row of pots, chatting like old friends. Well, almost.

Ann can make out a frown on the cute girl’s face when Niijima takes a seat atop one of the broken desks that seem to litter the rooftop, and pulls something from her pocket, plumes of smoke quickly following.

It’s not any of her business, but Ann can’t force herself to look away. Something about the two of them, how Niijima will say something and smirk while the other girl will frown but won’t raise her voice, focusing on digging into the dirt of the planters, is...entertaining, almost. It’s like she’s watching a show with the sound turned off, after being told to go to bed. Something she isn’t supposed to see, but is, anyway.

Niijima, for her part, seems to be having fun. She can’t even walk into the school without prompting gossip and outrageous rumors at every turn, but she doesn’t seem to care. 

And then Ann’s phone rings, an obnoxious pop song echoing down the stairwell bringing her back to the present.

Both girls turn to look at her, and their eyes meeting her own, and— God, what’s she doing? Spying on the most notorious student at Shujin? She turns and shuts the door, and tries not to straight up sprint out of the building. 

Before school the next day, she decides to slip into a pair of red leggings and wear her hoodie to class. It’s getting colder, after all, and people are going to talk about her whether she tries to fit in or not-- so why bother trying in the first place? 

Maybe she isn’t going to start skipping class whenever she pleases like Niijima does, but she can at least start to take her own advice. 

* * *

The third time Ann runs into her is the first time they actually talk to one another.

Well, sort of. 

It’s the first time Ann hears and sees Niijima outside of Shujin, anyway, which should count as her first time  _ actually  _ seeing her, except, well—

She doesn’t get much time to look.

Her shoot for the day is in Shinjuku, and the amount of production assistants on hand is too high to be a scheduling error. But there’s only so many places in Tokyo you can get ‘this sort of vibe’, the director says, so she guesses that they just have to accept the wage costs.

It’s for that reason she finds herself in an alley, behind one of a countless number of bars that seem to line the streets, clinging to the railing of a fire escape a floor above the shoot and trying not to shiver as each brisk wind whips against her bare legs. Her shorts are too short, even with the weather getting warmer.

“That’s it, Ann-Chan. That’s perfect!” 

No way that can be true— this angle is terrible on  _ everyone,  _ but a job’s a job, even if she’s not really engaged in what’s going on. She’s gotta have some way to pass time other than shopping and waiting for Shiho to get done with practice every night so she can message her.

Practice seems to be going later and later these days, but it only makes sense. The team is going to nationals, after all. That has to be more important than sending emojis to Ann until it’s stupidly late, anyway. 

Ann figures she might have a small crush on Shiho. The idea isn’t as scary as she thought it would be, when it first crossed her mind after a particular call with her parents in middle school. They had mentioned ‘ _ certain types’  _ of people they were having to work with in New York, and the panic Ann had felt at the descriptor at that time has kind of fallen off since.

Everyone already treated her like she was barely a person, anyway— so why should she care that they know she doesn’t just like boys? 

Her mind’s wandering so much she barely hears one of the production hands shout, “Hey, get out of here!” 

Soon, everyone on location is mumbling and turning their attention further down the alley. Only a couple of the assistants rush down there, but Ann sees a glimpse of the commotion before they block it— fists flying and whirling kicks and loud grunts as bodies clash and bang against the walls of the bar.

“Stop it!” The next thing she sees is the PAs pulling the two bodies apart, one a man with a beard she doesn’t recognize, and someone else she definitely does. 

Each PA takes one of the brawlers in hand, the bearded man being brought to the far end of the alley while the other combatant is brought closer to the shoot. Not too close— but close enough that Ann can make out the dark rings already forming around wine red eyes. 

The scowl on Niijima’s face is definitely new, and she looks ready to lash out when the director hollers, “Get your punk ass out of here! Don’t you have homework to do?”

And Niijima breaks out of the PA’s hold, turning a shoulder and barking back, “Mind your own goddamn business!”

“Yeah, you too, brat! You’re lucky I don’t report your ass!” The comment is lost in echoes as Niijima trudges away. She pauses right before she hits the side street, for just enough time to look back over her shoulder— and Ann sees those eyes again, just as vivid and piercing as they were on the roof.

“God, I knew shooting in Shinjuku was a bad idea.” The assistant director mutters under his breath, before he steps up the ladder to the fire escape and extends a hand to Ann. “Come on-- we’ll just make a set in the studio or somethin’.” 

Ann takes his hand, but can’t stop thinking about those eyes, at how the fight looked fair, even though the man had to be twice Niijima’s size. 

About how, even bleeding and bruised, Niijima stood strong. 

She doesn’t really pay attention to the equipment being torn down, mostly zones out as she enters the car to the studio, as the assistant director’s thigh brushes against her own in the backseat as he asks, “Wasn’t that punk wearing a Shujin uniform? Isn’t that where you go?”

Ann’s staring out the window. She isn’t looking at him, but she nods anyway. 

“Do you know her?”

“No.” She says the words, which shouldn’t feel like a lie, “I don’t.”

“Good. Would be a bad idea to get wrapped up in that kind of thing. After all, you…”

He keeps talking, and Ann keeps looking out the window. She doesn’t think she’s searching for a Shujin jacket in the crowds, but her eyes lock onto every black jacket they see.

* * *

The fourth time they run into each other is by far the strangest. 

It’s about the time of year that leaving the house with a jacket in  the morning seems like a good idea and Ann’s being baked alive by noon. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if Shujin had switched to their summer uniforms, but those don’t come for another two weeks, and she’ll ruin all of her make-up if she wears this hoodie for five more minutes. 

It’s why Ann finds her way to the locker room between classes-- the plain white of her gym t-shirt isn’t exactly exciting, but it has to be more comfortable under her uniform jacket than the layers she has on now. 

Pushing the door open, the sounds of students chatting in the halls fills the room, but once the door closes again, it’s almost entirely quiet. 

Anyone with a gym class would’ve already changed by now, so she doesn’t hesitate, finding an empty bench, unzipping the hoodie and pulling off the camisole underneath. When she rolls the t-shirt over her head, she hears it.

There’s a rattle, and her shoulders tense. 

If someone else had been in here, she would’ve seen or heard them before this. But she didn’t hear anything but the noise of the hallway, and the fact that there was no noise until after she changed sends a chill through her spine.

It would’ve been so easy for someone to slip in behind her. She wouldn’t have noticed a thing. 

“Who’s in here?” She asks, and her voice echoes oddly against the metal and concrete. 

No response. Tiptoeing to the end of the row of lockers, she looks— but there’s no one. No one in the next row, either. Or the next. 

By the time she’s scanned the room, she hasn’t found another living soul. She sighs with relief the same moment she hears a clanging, and a groan.

This time, it’s loud enough to know exactly where it’s coming from. 

Before she knows it, she’s sprinting to the showers— there’s no running water, someone’s hiding there, hoping she won’t find them, and she’s going to make them pay, she’s going to—

She rounds the corner, and her feet stop on a dime.

It’s not a creep— well, at least, she doesn’t think so. Instead, there’s someone sitting on a stool in one of the stalls, shirtless save for a tight sports bra and a dark red mark running down her bicep.

Ann has to hold back her gasp— even from this distance, she can make out a vicious cut, stitches haphazardly criss-crossed, barely keeping together while the hand holding the needle shakes. 

She might not have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, but she doesn’t need to to know that there’s no way Niijima is paying any attention to her. Not with Niijima’s hand moving back towards her arm, not with the way her eyes squeeze shut and she bites a roll of gauze stuck haphazardly in her mouth and--

And Ann has to look away. There isn’t a second thought in her mind as she scrambles back to the bench, throws her jacket on, grabs her hoodie and bolts.

She gets scolded for being late to class, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe she should have said something about Niijima— but, then again, maybe there was a reason she didn’t go to the nurse’s office, or anywhere else, in the first place.

The teachers wouldn’t want to hear about it, anyway. As long as they don’t see it, or they can act like they don’t see it, they don’t care. She knows that well.

Still, starting the next day, she makes a point to wear less layers in the first place. 

* * *

The fifth time, it’s almost a miracle that they don’t talk. 

Ann wants to. In fact, there’s probably nothing else she wants to do more— the shoot is boring, the director is over-familiar, and the early summer sun is so intense that she’s sure the leather jacket Niijima is wearing is too warm.

It can’t be comfortable, sitting outside like that, just off the outskirts of Ann’s shoot in the heart of bustling Shibuya, not at all blending in with the crowd of the cafe, but Niijima doesn’t seem bothered by it. She’s practically buried in her book, she’s so into it, and, wait-- is the book upside down?

“Ann-Chan, are you ready for the next round? I kinda want to re-shoot those last ones…the pose was good, but I know you can be more sexy than that.” 

Ann has to keep herself from rolling her eyes— this director always emphasizes sex appeal. Forget that there’s no way the frumpy blouse they have her wearing could possibly be sexy in any way. She doesn’t put up a fight as she hops out of her chair, stands in front of the camera and puts on the best face she can muster.

It’s in the corner of her eye that she can make out, just barely, familiar red eyes peeking over an overturned paperback.

So, Niijima’s watching her. That revelation should probably creep her out more, but something about it just doesn’t. Maybe it’s the fact that she’d be stupid to try anything with everyone around. 

Or maybe it’s the fact that Ann in some way feels she can relate to Niijima. Sure, she’s not getting into brawls in Shinjuku in her spare time, but she at least knows what it’s like to have her existence commented on with every step she takes, to have people form entire lives and backgrounds for her, about her, without even bothering to say hello. Niijima is maybe the only one who can relate, and that’s enough reason in itself to reach out. 

When the cameras stop flashing and the crew starts to tear down, and there’s still a girl in a leather jacket on the cafe’s patio, she makes her move. 

She doesn’t get farther than a few steps away from the shoot before a hand reaches out and grabs her arm. 

“Ann-chan!” The voice is slick with suave slime, the kind of tone that could only be practiced by hitting on girls at a bar. Not that this director probably hits on anyone old enough to go into a bar, “Leaving so soon? I was just thinking of bringing you girls to get a smoothie or somethin’. You know, a treat for a hard day’s work.” 

Ugh. Some part of her wants to shrug him off, to leave her alone. “I’m just-- I had to run some errands, and--”

He waves her off and rolls his eyes, “A girl like you shouldn’t need to be running around. Especially not at your age. Besides, it’ll be quick. Let me treat ya.” 

And-- that part of her that wants to fight back is overshadowed by the other part, the nagging voice that says if she doesn’t just go along with it, her life will be hell. It’s the same reason she always puts up with this during his shoots-- the same reason she accepts Kamoshida’s advances with a smile, no matter how much her guts twist when her mouth turns. 

Still, she looks back-- Niijima’s looking up at her now, and their eyes meet for just a moment before she forces a smile and says “Sure.” 

When she passes by the cafe on the way home later, Niijima is gone, and Ann isn’t entirely sure how to process the disappointment that revelation brings. 

* * *

The sixth time, there’s no choice but for them to finally speak. 

Ann would’ve preferred if they hadn’t, if she wouldn’t have been in this situation at all, but she is and at least there’s one good thing about it. 

The same slimy director keeps booking her throughout the summer, and as much as she’d rather stay in the air conditioned shops of the underground walkway, there’s only so many times she can refuse before it starts to raise suspicions, before industry rumors start to go around. Not just with the other models her age-- who cares about what they think, anyway-- but with the other directors and coordinators, magazines and agents. 

If she wants to make something of herself, this is the one kind of gossip she can’t afford to ignore. 

One shoot after another, each one having to deal with him, and as good as she is at maintaining a facade, the more humid and stifling the weather is, the less space she has to breathe, and the harder it is to wear a mask sealed tight to her face. 

It’s after one in August that things escalate. 

The shoot is secluded, right on the edge of Shinjuku, just far enough out that they’ll see anyone coming to cause trouble before they actually do. In terms of shoots, it’s a pretty standard one, except for the fact that she’s the primary model. They didn’t bother calling in any backups.

Which is more odd than offputting, and the shoot goes well enough. It’s after the lights are turned off and the cameras stop flashing that things start to shift. 

“Ann-Chan, can you wait here for a minute? Just a quick second— I want to go over some details with you on the upcoming winter series.” 

“I really need to catch the train and get home…” she says it weakly, and kicks herself right after. Should’ve come up with a better excuse, should’ve been more firm about it, should’ve, should’ve.

The director’s attention moves from some papers back to her. “I’ll give you a ride. It’s some important stuff, and I’ll make sure you get home safe, alright?”

And— all of the assistants around him are looking at her now, though they don’t all look the same. Some are more annoyed, others are a little… sympathetic, almost.

She shouldn’t. Her instinct is telling her not to, everything about the situation seems suspicious but she doesn’t stop herself from saying okay, and watching as everyone gets back to work.

It’s only once the crew starts to disperse that he approaches her. “Sorry about the wait. Wrap stuff, you know? C’mon, let’s go talk about this— I got a few ideas for outfits and wanna get your opinion on ‘em.”

He starts to walk away, down a side street, already lit up. When had it gotten so dark out? It must have been during the wait. 

“We can’t just talk about it here?” It’s a meek rebuttal, but at least it’s something. 

He scoffs at the suggestion, waving her off. “Pfft, you wanna talk about this in the middle of the road? Nah, let’s go somewhere nice and air-conditioned. Besides, I’ve got all the designs on my laptop in my car.” 

He stands and waits for her, and her feet are cement. She can’t move, rooted to the spot, and it hits her how there’s no one around anymore, how there are no designs, how he’s got her where he wants—

He doesn’t wait long-- his hands are on her arm, grabbing at her, “C’mon Ann-Chan. You did so well today. Let me reward you with something special.” 

“I don’t,” she tries to shake his arm off, but his grip doesn’t waver. “I have to get home, my parents—“

“Your parents are never in Tokyo. Even I know that. Let’s go.” He tugs her, now, but her feet are still planted in place, “Ann-Chan, you know no one likes a tease right? Come on.” 

“I didn’t- I don’t.” She had just been humoring him, had been taking these shoots because it was something to do and he kept offering, because it kept giving her an excuse when Kamoshida would call, because--

In the dim light, she can barely make out a crease in his brow as he squeezes her arm tighter, hard enough to hurt. “Listen to me. You’re going to come with me. I promise it won’t be bad. Just be a good girl and do what I say and everything will be perfect.”

If she doesn’t act now, she never will. She has to do something. Kamoshida can hold Shiho’s position on the volleyball team over her head, but this guy? He has nothing. He is nothing. 

“No!” She shouts, yanking her arm away. It doesn’t force him to let go, but it loosens his grip, a little.

She turns to run, and one of his hands moves and grabs her hood, stealing her breath as he yanks it back. “Stupid bitch! Don’t you know where we are? No ones going to help you here.” 

Still struggling to get out of his grip, he puts a hand on each arm and spins her around, tries to go in for the kiss and he smells so, so, bad and—

“Hey!”

She barely recognizes the voice, but it’s enough to get him off of her and looking towards the source. 

“Who the hell are you?”

And— the lighting is dim, but she can tell exactly who it is. Niijima has always cast a distinctive silhouette, has always stood with confidence. He doesn’t seem to recognize that.

“You’re just some brat— get out of here! I’m busy.” He turns back towards Ann, grabs her wrist again, “Let’s get out of here. It ain’t safe for a girl like you here.” 

She can just hear the footsteps before his hand is yanked off of her and he’s being pulled back, and Niijima’s fist is a little off center but it connects flush with his cheek, sending him stumbling away from Ann. 

Leaving just enough of an opening for Niijima to keep throwing punches at him, every single one propelled by intensity, seemingly every muscle in Niijima’s body pushing energy to her fists. Ann’s seen TV shows like this, but nothing matches just how viserceral the sound of fists against another human being is, the grunts and cries of pain.

It’s over before she can even register it, with the director hobbling off, doing his best to run. His best isn’t very good; Ann’s half-tempted to catch up with him, beat him until he can’t even manage to move at all, but it seems smarter to just get out and get back home. 

Niijima watches him go, breaths coming fast and heavy as she shakes out each of her hands before turning back towards Ann. “Are you okay?”

What does she say to that? Her night’s gone from working to trying to escape for her life to watching someone she swore was a phantom just a few months ago kick a creep’s ass. Words seem a little tricky at the moment, so she just nods. 

“Good. I apologize for… you having to see that.”

Of all things, Niijima is nervous, turning away from Ann as she speaks. “I just... I overheard how he was talking to you. I couldn’t let that go.” 

There’s something in her tone that’s almost raw in its genuineness. If Ann had any doubts about Niijima’s intentions, that all but wipes them away. 

Still, she can’t just stand here and not say anything. Not like before. Especially not now. “Sorry, I’m still just trying to kind of…” She gestures to herself, not sure she’s making any sense. Niijima doesn’t seem bothered, though, so Ann continues, “Register things? For someone so small, you sure pack a punch.” 

Niijima laughs, short and awkward but enough to fill the heavy quiet of the alley. 

“It’s not about how physically intimidating your body is. When it comes down to it, fighting is all about placement, and technique…” Niijima explains, but then cuts herself off. 

It’s— this whole conversation is way too enduring for someone she just watched jump a fully grown man. 

She must have been zoning out for longer than she realizes, because Niijima can’t stop fidgeting— she rubs the back of her knuckles, shifts the weight on her foot. Like she’s waiting for another brawl to break out at a moment’s notice.

“Do you do this often?” It’s a natural question, but it feels so… stiff and awkward. Like she’s talking to a stranger. 

“Um.” Now Niijima rubs the back of her head, eyes scanning the ground, “Well, there’s a lot of that sort of thing around here, you know. Some really…. questionable people.” 

“And you fight them off?”

“Occasionally. I try to anyway.” She drops her hands, looks Ann in the eye, “Sometimes it works out better than others. This time was one.” 

“Well,” Niijima’s eyes are still so intense, and Ann can’t look away. Not that she would try to, “I’m glad it did. Thank you.” 

Niijima nods, though she breaks eye contact as her cheeks light up like a sign for a Rappongi bikini bar. “Not a big deal. Not something to thank me over.”

Now she’s just being stubborn. Without Niijima, who knows what would’ve happened to her? Maybe she’ll deflect the direct approach, but there’s gotta be  _ something  _ Ann can think of to let Niijima know she’s thankful. 

There’s not much else to go off of aside from what’s immediately in front of her. “You— are you hurt? You’ve been touching your hands a lot…”

Niijima shoves said hands into her pockets quickly after, and god damn it, it’s  _ cute _ . “I’m fine. Really. Knuckles always get sore after a fight. That’s just how it goes.”

Ann rolls her eyes, takes a step closer and nearly reaches for Niijima’s arm before she remembers she doesn’t even know Ann’s name, let alone whether or not she’d be okay with a stranger touching her. Instead, she pulls her own hands back and says. “Can you— you should let me patch you up. My apartment isn’t too far from here.”

She may have been half-dazed in disbelief when the fight actually happened, but she knows Niijima caught one or two strikes of her own. If nothing else, it would be a good excuse for them to talk. 

“That’s—“ Why would someone who has no problem teaching people a lesson on the streets of Shinjuku blush at everything Ann says? “You don’t have to do that.” 

“It’s not a big deal. I owe you at least that much. If you want, it’ll just be a couple minutes. At least let me do something.” 

Niijima glances up at her, and nods, small and quick. “Alright. You said you’re nearby?” 

“Mmhm!” Ann smiles, “Well, in Shibuya, but not that far in. We should still be able to catch a train if we walk fast enough.” 

“Oh, I have a bike. If you’re comfortable with that, of course.” 

Niijima says it with such confidence that Ann realizes she probably doesn’t think what she said was all that weird. “I mean, if you really want to bike all the way there… the train is way faster, though.”

“That’s not—“ Niijima sticks her hands in the air, “I meant— not that kind of bike. A motorcycle.”

“Oh.” Ann feels very, very stupid, but then again, since when does someone her age have a motorcycle, of all things? “Are you offering me a ride? I don’t have a helmet.” 

“It’s fine. I’m a safe driver.” Niijima nods when she says it, a hand on her chin.

She looks like a complete dork, and while Ann wants to laugh, she realizes it’s not really her place to. Not when Niijima still doesn’t know who she is.

So instead, she does a little bow, and watches Niijima’s expression change, the blush climbing back up her cheeks. “I’m Ann Takamaki. And I know better than to accept a ride from a stranger.”

“Ah.” Niijima mutters, “I guess that was a little presumptuous, wasn’t it?”

“That’s not- that’s why I’m introducing myself. So that we aren’t strangers.” 

“Oh. Right.” Niijima steels herself, sets her shoulders and straightens her back. It does little to help her blush. “Makoto Niijima. Nice to meet you.” 

“There! Now this isn’t weird.”

Ignoring the fact that it very much is, Ann takes a step closer, and Makoto turns, heading down the alley. 

“I parked kind of far away. I hope you don’t mind. I have a spot that’s reserved for me.” 

“Impressive. Who knew someone going around jumping people in Shinjuku would be famous?” She says it with a giggle, and hears Makoto’s steps shorten a bit.

“I’m not doing it for fun, and I’m not at all famous! I just… needed a spot, and I knew someone who had one.”

“Sounds like something someone trying to stay low key would say.” 

Their steps fall into rhythm, though they must look like a very odd pair, Ann all made up and Makoto… Makoto.

Odd, but not bad. It’ll probably cause some heads to turn, but so what. They’ll do it regardless of if they’re walking together or apart. At least they have each other’s company. 

Still, there’s something bothering Ann. “Say, didn’t I see you by one of my shoots a while ago?” 

Makoto’s response is unintelligibly mumbled into the collar of her jacket as they round a corner, back to a street more densely trafficked and bathed in light. 

“What was that? I didn’t catch it.” 

“I said, I was just in the area, I just wanted tea and happened to be in the area.” In— Shibuya? Didn’t she say she’s usually around Shinjuku?

That’s not even touching on the book thing, though Ann would probably get an answer like  _ “It makes it easier to read that way”  _ if she asked. Some kind of yakuza/murderer Makoto is, going around beating up creeps and not even able to maintain composure when making small talk with a girl.

It isn’t like it’s the first time the school has gotten rumors wrong. And unlike her classmates, there’s a million questions Ann wants to ask. She wants to know more about this girl, about the choices she makes and why she ended up where she is. 

Maybe not tonight. By the time they get to Makoto’s parking spot, Ann’s feet ache, and all she wants is to lie down. It should feel like a missed opportunity if she doesn’t take it up, but it doesn’t. Fate, or dumb luck-- something will almost certainly bring them back together again in the future. 

“Just let me know where I need to go. I’m pretty good at finding things— just point it out.” it’s the last thing Makoto says before slipping on her helmet with practiced smoothness. 

Ann nods. When she hops onto the back of the bike, Makoto revs the engine, and it’s roar cuts through the rumble of city nightlife.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for more of this AU, I urge you to read this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281455 It's the same AU and it is very, very excellent. 
> 
> Also, I wrote this approximately 75 years ago.


End file.
